Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Professor Monroe	By : Athey1024 Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 15724 -:- Recommendations : 8 -:- Currently Reading : 25
Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter. This is a work of fanfiction and no profit is being made. It is a for-fun endeavor and no infringement is intended.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
This is where some of the 'Mature Content' really starts to er... happen.

- - - -

“Harry, are you ever going to tell me what you're actually doing?” Hermione asked seemingly out of no where.

Harry's head shot up and he looked at her with wide eyes as he shuffled a paper from the side of the study desk over so it covered the book that was laying in front of him on the library table.

“Hmm?” Harry asked, innocently.

Hermione gave him an exasperated look. “Harry, I know you're not looking up stuff to help Snuffles with his defense. I'm not sure you were ever looking that stuff up with me, and you've been coming in here to the library even more often than I have! Me! You don't come into the library as a casual activity, you just don't! I know you're all caught up on your homework, so that's not it. So what's really going on?”

“And why can't I come to the library unless school work is involved?” Harry asked, sounding mildly offended. “Why can't I spend a Saturday afternoon in the library? It's nice and peaceful. Quiet. Good work environment.”

Hermione just raised her eyebrows at him and Harry huffed and slouched back in his chair.

The place was deserted, which was the only reason Harry had felt comfortable coming there to work on his translation of the book. It was hard to work on it only on his bed at night and he had been relieved to feel vaguely safe doing it on an actual table where he could spread his materials out.

Slytherin's Quidditch team had booked the pitch for the whole day for an intensive training session with all the new members. They'd had to replace more than half their team since so many of the old players had graduated the last two years. It was supposed to be quite a spectacle, so a lot of the school had gone out to sit in the stands and watch.

The whole of the Gryffindor team – minus Harry – had gone to 'check out the competition'. Harry didn't see much point for him to go since Crabbe and Goyle had become the new Beaters and they were idiots who couldn't properly coordinate an attack if their lives depended on it. And Malfoy was still Seeker, so there was nothing new there.

“Harry...” Hermione began hesitantly, worrying her bottom lip, “is there a reason you're hiding this? Is something wrong? Please, if something is going on, just tell us. We're your friends, Harry. Maybe I can help?”

The worry in her eyes put a weight of guilt on his shoulders and he heaved a bit under the weight before letting out a sigh.

“Okay,” he grumbled as he pulled the chair beside him out and motioned for her to sit down. “But nothing is wrong, exactly... and I've considered telling you, I just wasn't sure how you'd react, is all. I was afraid you might freak out or jump to conclusions.”

“It can't be that bad, Harry,” Hermione said as she came over and accepted the seat. Her eyes raked over the papers and curiosity glowed on her face. “What are you doing?”

“I'm translating a book.”

Hermione's eyes went wide and she looked at him skeptically. “Translating a book?” she echoed incredulously. “Harry, I didn't think you knew any other languages. Even your Latin is pretty awful. What sort of book could you be translating?”

Harry scowled at her mildly before rolling his eyes. “Think hard, Hermione. Is there really no second language that you can think of that I know?”

She continued to frown as she took a moment to think about this. “No...” she said slowly, shaking her head.

'Are you sure?' Harry hissed out, and Hermione gasped and jumped at the hissing sound that came out of his mouth. Dawning understanding flashed in her eyes and her hand came up to cover her mouth.

“No! But... but that can't be possible, can it? You said it was a book. I mean... Parseltongue can only be spoken... right?”

Harry pushed the parchment aside so the page he'd been working on was exposed to her view. Hermione's eyes fell upon the page and she gasped again before leaning in to study it more closely.

“Is this... is this written parseltongue?” she asked with an almost awed tone to her voice.

“It's called parselscript,” Harry said.

“Harry, where ever did you find this?” she asked, looking up at him with wide questioning eyes.

“It's Professor Monroe's book. I told you about how he collects books. He said that he came across the book when he was in his early 20's when he first started traveling, and even though he couldn't read it, he bought it because it was such a rare find. He's had it collecting dust in a box for ages, but when he realized that by coming to teach at Hogwarts, I would be one of his students and I'm a parselmouth, he brought the book with him in hopes that I might be willing to give it a skim and tell him what it was about.”

Hermione's lips were parted in surprised, but she slowly closed them and frowned with worry. “Harry... did he ask you to keep this a secret?” she asked

“No, no,” Harry said shaking his head, “that was my idea. I just remembered how badly everyone freaked out back in second year and I wanted to try and avoid reminding anyone about my special talent, is all. Professor Monroe is actually really open minded about the whole thing. He just sees the book as another source of knowledge. It's another curiosity for him

“Did you know that parseltongue isn't the only magical language a person can use to talk to animals? There's apparently some people who can talk to birds, or horses, and a few others. Remember last year when Dumbledore talked to the merfolk in the lake? Apparently you can use magic to learn that, which sounds pretty wicked, honestly... Anyway, Professor Monroe told me I didn't have to do it at all – translating the book, I mean – just that he'd really appreciate it if I'd be willing to at least skim it and curb his curiosity.”

“But you're actually trying to translate the whole thing?” Hermione asked, looking quite surprised.

Harry's eyes lit up and he nodded enthusiastically. “It's really fascinating! The book was written around 970 B.C.E. so it's really old. It's got some really fascinating sorts of magic in it – totally different than the stuff we learn about now, and the glimpse it gives you into the lives of the witches and wizards who lived at the time is really interesting. I mean, most of the book could just as easily been written in middle-English because it's just as applicable to people who don't speak parseltongue as those who do. It's just aboutmagic, you know? But the last few chapters are only applicable to parselmouths, and most all of it's about this really amazing branch of healing magic founded by a Greek wizard named Asclepius.

“He was from back in Ancient Greece and he was a parselmouth. In fact, parselmouths were fairly common back in that time – not like today where it's just me and Voldemort. The Greek muggles thought he was sort of a demi-god. According to their legends, he was the son of Apollo, but it's hard to say how much of that was made up after he died or whatever. Anyway, he used magic that relied on having a serpent as a familiar, and using a rod that had the dried and magically treated body of a certain sort of magical serpent wrapped around it as a sort of make-shift wand. It was a focusing device with a magical 'core' long before witches and wizards were actually using wands to perform magic.

“It gave them an extra boost in power that non-parselmouths didn't have, so they were able to perform advanced healing magic that others couldn't do. The temples dedicated to Asclepius were places of healing. Sick people from all over would trek to the temples and be treated by parselmouth wizards who worked there. It's really interesting! I'd never heard of any of this stuff before. I mean, it makes me wonder where all this negative stigma attached to parselmouths comes from! It's just not fair!”

Hermione looked authentically surprised and interested but hesitated a moment before becoming somewhat pensive looking.

“Well, Harry, I suppose it's probably a result of people having short memories. Maybe parselmouths were once associated with healing magic, but in the last few centuries, it's been more often associated with Dark wizards... Not even just a few centuries. It goes all the way back to Salazar Slytherin – I suppose it's about British parselmouths, then. Perhaps these Greek parselmouths were all about healing, but the only historical figures I've ever heard about from Britain that were parselmouths were all known as Dark wizards. Slytherin was just the first –“

“Slytherin wrote this book.” Harry said suddenly and then cringed, wondering if he'd just made a huge mistake.

Hermione's words died in her mouth and she just gaped at him in shock.

“And honestly? I don't think he even was a dark wizard,” Harry said, suddenly feeling a bit more defensive and indignant. “At least, he certainly wasn't when he wrote this book. Not any real dark magic anyway.”

Hermione's eyes widened and her jaw actually dropped a bit lower

“I mean... it's just ridiculous, really. Some of the things in this book are 'technically' labeled by the Ministry in Britain as 'dark' now, but only for political reason, not because they're actually dangerous or anything. Did you know that the Ministry has labeled faerie magic as 'dark'? I mean, how bloody ridiculous is that!? Faerie magic!”

Hermione frowned in confusion. “Faerie magic?” she questioned.

“It's magic that little kids used to learn hundreds of years ago, but the Ministry banned it because it trains witches and wizards the fundamentals of wandless magic, and the Ministry needed people using wands if they were going to regulate and control magical use. If kids didn't learn the fundamental stuff when they were really young, they'd lose most of the ability to perform wandlessly by the time they reached magical maturity. They become so used to focusing their magic through an amplifier that they lose the ability to do it without one. They become dependent on wands, so when it's taken away, they can't perform magic without it.”

Hermione looked notably dubious. “I've never even heard of faerie magic, Harry, and I read a lot. And I certainly haven't heard anything about a wandless magic for children. And even if that were true, that can't seriously be the only reason that the Ministry would ban it.”

“It was! It's just politics. It's about the people in power controlling the masses through deception and political games. Tricking people into believing that something is dangerous so that they willingly give up something that they deserve and have every right to. The Ministry would never be able to get people to give this stuff up normally, so they have to come up with a convincing enough excuse. Half the stuff that's labeled as 'dark' isn't dark at all – they just called it that, in order to get the people to give it up willingly. It's ridiculous!”

“Where are you getting this stuff, Harry?” Hermione asked, shaking her head.

“If you know where to look, it's pretty obvious, honestly,” Harry said, frowning indignantly.

Hermione cocked a single eyebrow. “Oh really? And where exactly do you look?”

Harry huffed in frustration and jumped up before disappearing around the corner towards the restricted section. Hermione's eyes widened and she followed him.

“Harry, what are you doing in there?” she hissed as she looked around cautiously, watching for Madam Pince.

“I got a pass, Hermione, you don't have to worry,” Harry said, rolling his eyes as he thumbed through several books before pulling one out, and then another. He went down several more rows, picked out another and then down two shelves before grabbing a fourth. Finally he left with his pile of books and returned to the table with Hermione trailing behind.

She sat down, watching him with curious eyes as he placed the books in front of her.

“What are these?” she asked, frowning cautiously, worried that he'd just put some books about dark magic down in front of her.

“They're history books.”

She blinked and looked at him. “History books?”

“Yes, history books. In the restricted section. How ridiculous is that?” Harry groused.

“But why would history books be restricted?” Hermione asked, baffled.

“Because knowledge is power,” Harry grumbled, “and history is often rewritten by the victors. These are all really old history books – original printings without modern modifications to fit more modern interpretations of historical events, but they're also the onlyrecords of certain other things so they can't be removed from the school altogether. Here, look at this one. It's all about the North Berwick witch trials of 1590 and how a single group of wealthy and powerful wizards who were under suspicion for 'witchcraft' and 'black magic' struck a deal with the muggles to get an end put to the trials and get the heat off their own hides, and then how they manipulated the magical peasants of the time to cooperate with the concessions they made to the muggles by claiming a few specific branches of magic were dark and would taint their magic if they kept using it – even though that magic had been in use for centuries without any 'taint' ever happening before. And there have been studies since that prove that no such taint exists at all, it was just a cover to appease the muggles who were running the witch trials.”

He pushed one of the books in front of her and gave her an expectant look. Hermione frowned and hesitated for a moment before her own curiosity and her innate need to read any book placed in front of her, caused her to look down and crack it open. Harry returned to his translation work while Hermione read, each busy in their own little worlds.

“Harry –“ Hermione's voice broke in some time later and Harry set his quill down, waiting expectantly. “This is... okay, I don't know what to think, exactly,” she hesitated, shaking her head. “Do you have any books that really confirm that these weather rituals didn't somehow cause harm to people? I mean, they could be dangerous – you have to admit...”

“The allegations that witches killed the king of Scotland by sinking his boat was rubbish,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. He reached over and grabbed one of the other books and thumbed through the pages until he found what he was looking for and put it over top of the book she'd been reading. “Here, read this.”

Hermione looked a bit exasperated, but did as he said and a moment later, Harry was back to writing out the translation.

“This is just... it's just... urgh! Is this for real?” Hermione's frustrated and clearly annoyed voice broke through the silence a good twenty minutes later.

“I know!” Harry said, enthusiastically. “It's just outrageous, isn't it?!”

“How can people be okay with letting this go on?” Hermione asked.

“It's because they just don't realize it,” Harry said, shaking his head and huffing in frustration. “They're just comfortable sitting around, believing what people in charge tell them, instead of actually doing the digging and finding out the truth for themselves.”

“But what about Hogwarts? Why would the professors here put up with this?” Hermione said, shaking her head.

“Who's to say that they even realize the truth? Professor Monroe knows – he told me about this trial, in particular, but I've been looking through loads of books the last week and a half, and I've found about a dozen other examples of stuff, just like it. Loads of more recent stuff too – it's not all just stuff that happened hundreds of years ago. The Ministry is doing stuff like this all the time.”

And that was how Harry got Hermione at least partially involved in – but mostly just aware of – his research. He started pulling out all of the notes he'd taken, and a bunch more books from the restricted section to show her what all he'd found so far. She was definitely upset with a number of things that had been hidden for blatantly questionable motives and reasoning, but wasn't nearly as upset about the whole thing as Harry was.

Hermione agreed that many of these branches of magic shouldn't be banned, but thought it was merely lack of awareness and apathy that allowed them to stay on the black lists, and not anything serious and if someone actually petitioned the Ministry, it could probably be repealed. At the same time, she had other crusades that she already had on her plate, and this wasn't necessarily something she thought was worth sacrificing their OWL revision time for, when they could easily tackle a project like this after they'd left Hogwarts – many of these bans had been on the books for decades or even centuries, and a few years wouldn't make that big of a difference. She considered Sirius, and her house-elf crusade more pressing matters since 'people were actively suffering' in those cases.

Despite Hermione's arguments, Harry couldn't get the subject out of his mind, and found himself staying after Defense class to discuss some of the more frustrating ones with Professor Monroe, who was always willing to take some time to talk with Harry about them. In fact, in the following weeks, it became almost expected that Harry would remain behind as soon as Defense ended. Ron and Hermione attempted to stay behind with him a few times – Ron got so bored the first time, that he didn't try it again, and while Hermione actually participated in Harry and Professor Monroe's chats a few times, she felt a bit left out and out of place when Harry would get so enthusiastic and start going into something that the pair of them had talked about before, leaving her out of the loop. So after a bit, even she gave up trying to stick around, opting to work on revision instead.

Harry found himself looking forward to his two afternoons a week spent with Professor Monroe, more than just about any other time of the week. The most exciting thing was when he brought in his still-in-progress translation of Slytherin's book, and the professor offered to teach him how to perform a few of the spells talked about in it. He had experience with a few of them – having practiced the ancient magical arts of other countries a lot in his younger years – so he understood what the book was talking about, even when Harry was confused

Harry had, secretly, been practicing a few of the other small faerie spells on his own, but had hit road blocks with a few of the more complicated spells. He feared he had already become too dependent on his wand, and would be unable to perform any of the more powerful wandless spells, but Professor Monroe insisted that it wasn't too late, at all, and had offered to show him.

After that, Harry had started coming by after his last class on Wednesday, and during his free block on Friday, which fortunately, Professor Monroe had free as well.

Harry was growing increasingly fond of the man – practically in awe of him – and that attraction had yet to abate. If anything, he was finding himself increasingly more attracted to him, and more aware of that attraction as time progressed.

Not only was Harry finding himself more aware of his attraction towards his teacher, but more aware of his sexual side all together. He'd been rather blasé about it before – he'd wank every other day or so, whenever that persistent little itch hit him, or he couldn't get to sleep, or he found himself in the shower with an erection and no one else around – but he didn't put any focus or attention on it outside of that. It was just a casual thing that he did on occasion and then didn't think about until the next time the urge struck him. Now, in stark contrast, he found himself thinking about sex quite a lot. And wanking a heck of a lot more often, too.

His knew awareness of his attraction to men might have played a role in this, but he wasn't entirely sure. All he knew was that he'd never really 'checked out' his classmates before, but now he couldn't quite stop himself from doing it all the time. After the first month of classes had drawn to a close, Harry could catalog in his mind just which of his fellow male students had nice arses, which ones had appealing builds, and which ones held nearly no interest for him at all.

He found that if he fell asleep while working, or just didn't get around to wanking before bed, he was practically guaranteed a wet dream. And while he always woke up remembering that it was extremely pleasant, he could never quite remember anything specific from the dreams. Sometimes little flashes of images and sensation would linger in his mind, just beyond his grasp, for a few minutes after waking, but they would always vanish and leave him feeling bereft and frustrated... and sticky.

Quidditch practices had been a weekly distraction, although Harry did enjoy it, since there really was nothing quite like the freeing sensation of flying on a broom. But the showers after practice had become an issue of confusion and embarrassment. He was relieved to be able to say that he was not attracted to Ron. He was just too much of a brotherly-best-mate for Harry to find himself attracted to the ginger. Ron's brothers, however, were another matter entirely. Harry's cock seemed to be especially intrigued by the idea of the two tall, nicely muscled, and identical red-heads.

He even caught himself fantasizing in class a few times about what it would be like to have both of them at the same time. When he caught himself thinking such thoughts, he had quickly squashed them, feeling rather horrified with himself and wondering where he'd even gotten that idea about having his bum licked.

Harry had always been rather clueless about sex in general – the extent of his knowledge was mostly gleamed from dorm-room chatter over the previous four years – and he had considered himself especially ignorant of how sex between two men would work. And yet his subconscious seemed to somehow have come up with a wide array of ideas to work with. Harry's waking fantasies would become quite graphic, in fact, and as more days passed, his wanking sessions were becoming more and more enthusiastic. The hardest thing had been trying to keep himself from fantasizing about Professor Monroe when he had these waking fantasies.

At first, he kept trying to tell himself that he needed to get over his crush on his teacher because it would always remain unrequited, but as his imagination seemed to grow more and more creative, another part of his mind started suggesting that there really was no harm in fantasizing, as long as he realized he couldn't follow through on any of those fantasies. And so, with only initial hesitation, Harry started letting himself imagine his teacher as he wanked. Teaching him, as it were. The fantasizes, more often then not, took part in the classroom, and got more elaborate as the days passed. They also brought about some of the most amazing orgasms Harry could ever remember experiencing. Part of him worried he was becoming obsessed, but he tried to sooth his worries by reminding himself he was fifteen, and honestly, puberty hit most of his classmates several years earlier than this, and if anything, he was behind on these things.

–

The first Hogsmeade weekend was the first weekend in October and Harry ended up using the day to meet with his solicitor, Mr. Paul Jennings, for the first time in-person. They met in a private room of the Three Broomsticks that Mr. Jennings arranged for, and Mr. Jennings spent the hour-long meeting going over all the steps he was taking, and about to take, against those who had been publicly attacking Harry.

His actions had already been partly successful, as far as Harry was concerned. It had been over a week since the last time Harry had seen any articles in the Prophet talking crap about him, but Mr. Jennings was set on getting retractions printed, and was working towards getting monetary compensation for suffering and 'irrepressible damage' to Harry's reputation from certain prominent figures in the Ministry.

Mr. Jennings went on to explain a number of rights that Harry had access to, and that he recommended Harry take advantage of, including taking full controlling ownership over his name and image, since it was what he called 'intangible property', to make sure no one profited off of Harry's name, or tried to claim an association with him on false pretense or for a dangerous or faulty product. Harry was skeptical about the whole thing, but the man did make a persuading argument – especially when he suggested the possibility that someone could try to push through legislation, claiming that Harry endorsed it, when he in fact, did not, or someone could make a toy with his name on it, and then that toy could end up hurting a child and Harry would be associated with that.

Jennings also suggested that Harry also work with a Ms. Matthews from the firms PR, or Public Relations, division. He said that Harry did not have nearly enough control over what his image was in the public or in the press, and that left him open for attacks like the ones that had happened this summer, as well as all the nonsense that came out during the Tournament.

The idea of 'interviews' and articles about him in the paper left a nasty taste in Harry's mouth, but Jennings insisted that Harry simply did not have the option of trying to stay out of the limelight and be 'normal' as he insisted he wanted. He said that if Harry refused to give the press and the public anything real to talk about, they'd just make things up to sate the endless appetite for gossip of the masses. He said that, in his experience, giving them nothing was far worse then giving them little bits of information, here and there. And this way, Harry could control what got out.

Harry had relented with a sense of doomed resignation, and expecting the meeting to be about over. However, that was when Mr. Jennings brought up Harry's inherited seats, and Harry had just blinked at him dumbly.

“My what?”

“Your seats in the Wizengamot,” Jennings repeated, raising an eyebrow in surprise as it became blatantly obvious that Harry really didn't know what he was talking about. “Has no one ever told you about them?” he asked almost incredulously.

“No, I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Not even your Magical Proxy?” he asked, incredulously.

Harry's expression darkened and he scowled. “My Proxy is Dumbledore, and he's never told me anything. I didn't even know he was my proxy till about a month ago.”

“What!? That's absurd!”

“Tell me about it. I read about what they're supposed to do – the yearly visits and making sure the magical child knows about their heritage and stuff – he never did any of that.”

Mr. Jenning's eyes narrowed and his face had a hard edge to it. “Dumbledore was always against any legislation that gave Proxy's the power to take a magical child out of the muggle world, but to think that he'd neglect his duties in the care of a child, let alone youespecially, in pursuit of an idiotic political agenda... The old fool...” he grumbled in a frustrated tone.

Harry just frowned deeper, hating that betrayed and confused feeling that always filled him when he thought about this.

“Well, the man has clearly neglected his duties as your Proxy. I had wondered, when there had been no involvement from your Proxy in these matters with your defense. I suppose this explains that. You could actually petition to have him removed from the position. You could easily make a case for emancipation at this point.”

“Emancipation?” Harry said, sitting up straighter in his chair.

“There are actually a few factors working in your favor there – first off, you were forced into completing in the Tournament last year, and only adult wizards were supposed to be allowed to participate in that event. Second, is your hearing at the Ministry in August. You were tried before a 'full' seating of the Wizengamot – something which no minor is supposed to be subjected to. It could easily be argued that the Ministry already sees you as an adult, therefore you should get the rights allotted an adult as well.”

“What would this mean, exactly?” Harry asked with interest. “If I was emancipated, I mean?”

“Well, for one, you would have rights to vote on your Wizengamot seats,” Jennings said with an amused, smug grin.

“Wait, what seats?”

“Ah yes, you seem to be unaware of them. How much do you know about how the Wizengamot functions and what exactly it is?”

“Er... well, it's both our legislative and the higher judicial body,” Harry began hesitantly, trying to recall what all he'd read over the past month on it. “It was based off the old Witenagemot – 'Meeting of wise men' – that preceded the muggle's Parliament. Er... I believe it's split in two – the House of Lords and the House of Commons. The people in the House of Commons are elected, or workers for the Ministry.”

“Very good! And the House of Lords is occupied by people who gained their votes through right of hereditary peerage,” Mr. Jennings said, grinning approvingly. “Unlike the muggle system, the members of our House of Lords can have rights to more than a single vote – those in the House of Commons only get one vote on any issue, but Lords can inherit more than a single seat – and often do. Families with seats would often intermarry, but they did not want to lose rights to all of their seats. Say, for example, a man with four hereditary seats has three daughters, but no sons. He could give some of the seats to his children when they reach certain ages, or leave them to his children upon his death. Say for example, his eldest daughter, gets one seat, and she marries another man who has four seats inherited from his family. They now have five seats combined. If they have only one child, that child will likely be given one voting seat upon reaching seventeen for learning purposes, and when he gets older and has gained more trust from his father, he will gain more. It's a cumbersome system, but it's been in place for a very long time.”

“Okay,” Harry said nodding slowly and processing the details. “So are you saying that I've got seats on the Wizengamot?”

“You have many seats on the Wizengamot,” Jennings said with a predatory grin. “Your grandfather was Charlus Potter, and by the time his father, Johnathan Potter, had died, Charlus was Lord over five seats. Charlus married Dorea Black, the youngest daughter of Cygnus Black the Third, and Violetta Bulstrode. Violetta had two seats to her name, and had held on to them most of her life, and ended up giving one to her daughter Cassiopeia, and the other to Dorea. Most of Cygnus' seats were eventually left to his eldest son Pollox, but he did leave one to Dorea, giving her two. Charlus and Dorea only had one son, your father, James Potter, so he got seven seats in total upon their deaths in 1978. James Potter was not a fan of Politics and never took up his seats, or made any votes in the Wizengamot, so to the best of my knowledge they have been vacant all these years.”

“So I've got seven votes?” Harry whispered in surprise.

“No, you have fifteen.”

“Fifteen!?” Harry squeaked. “How do I have fifteen?”

“When a Lord has no heir, they can will their seats to whomever they wish. Over the last decade, a number of Lords and Ladies have left their seats to you, in their wills.”

Harry gaped at him, feeling utterly dumbstruck and speechless.

“You actually have more seats, and more votes than any other single individual in the House of Lords, right now. Of course, being a minor, you cannot actually vote them. This is another reason to take steps to remove Dumbledore as your Proxy.”

“Just to emancipate me, so I can vote?” Harry asked, frowning.

“No, to remove his access to your votes. Albus Dumbledore, as your Magical Proxy, has the right to vote your seats in your stead. He could have been using your seats, all these years, to vote on legislature without ever consulting you – which is not something a proxy is supposed to do – at least not once the holding wizard has reached the age of eleven.”

Harry felt his blood go cold. “Has he?” he whispered, feeling horrified. “Been voting for things with my seats?”

“I would have to look up the records,” Jennings said gravely, clearly noting how unsettled Harry was by this.

Harry nodded his head distractedly. “Please do,” he said in a quiet, hoarse, voice.

Their meeting concluded shortly after that, and Harry found himself wandering through Hogsmeade in a bit of a daze. In fact, he was so distracted, that he wasn't watching where he was going, and ran right into someone, face first. Harry stumbled in shock and nearly fell over when a pair of strong hands gripped him by the shoulders and steadied him.

The heady rush that coursed through him at the contact took his breath away, and without even thinking, Harry buried his face in the chest of the warm body now holding him. Harry had to bite back a moan as the feeling only intensified, and he pulled in a deep breath of the person's scent.

The familiar scent was what kicked his brain back into gear and he realized with no small amount of horror, what he was doing, and jerked back a step, putting space between him and his teacher.

Harry gaped up in embarrassed horror at the clearly amused face of Professor Monroe, looking down on him with a grin. “Harry? Are you alright?” Professor Monroe asked with a small chuckle. When Harry's face went from shocked horror, to the same deadened despair that had filled him since the end of his meeting with Mr. Jennings, Professor Monroe's amusement died away from his face. “Harry?” he asked more gently now. “What's wrong?”

Harry looked up at the man that had become a mentor of sorts to him, sexual fantasies and unrequited crush, not withstanding, and felt a crushing wave of relief. This was who he needed. More than anything else, he just needed someone – an adult – that he could rely on to take away some of the burden. That person was supposed to be Dumbledore, according to the law. But Harry didn't know what to think about Dumbledore anymore.

“Professor,” Harry whispered weakly.

Monroe looked down at him with concern in his clear blue eyes for a moment before reaching his hand out and resting it on Harry's shoulder. “Come on,” he said in a reassuring, although also slightly breathless tone, as he began to guide Harry down the street. Harry's eyes tried to slide closed against his will from the warmth and magic that seemed to be swelling up at the point of contact, and yet somehow his feet managed to carry him forward.

Professor Monroe lead him off High Street and onto one of the residential side streets to a narrow two-story house that had a set of stairs along the side of it leading to a small balcony and a door with the number 14-B written on it. Harry was so distracted by the buzzing, and the light-headed fog settling over his brain for such a prolonged period of time, that it wasn't until Professor Monroe took his hand away and pulled out a key for the door that Harry registered what was going on.

“Where are we?” Harry asked, blinking in a daze and trying to clear his head.

“It's a building I own. Some... colleagues of mine use the lower floor on occasion, but I keep a private apartment up here for times when I want to get away from the school.”

“Oh,” Harry said in surprise as the professor pushed the door open and motioned for Harry to enter.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Er, sure,” Harry said awkwardly as he looked around the small room. It was cozy enough, and there were even more books here – something that brought a small grin to Harry's face. There was a large fireplace with Floo against one wall, flanked by a closed door on each side. Opposite the hearth across the room was a small kitchenette with a half-height counter separating it from the sitting room.

Monroe motioned Harry to take a seat on the small couch by the fireplace, and followed him over, surprising Harry by sitting right next to him.

“Zanna,” Monroe called out and Harry's brows furrowed in confusion for a moment when suddenly a small pop echoed through the room and a house elf in a tea towel appeared in front of them.

“Master be needing something from Zanna?” the elf squeaked excitedly.

“Yes, Zanna. My guest and I would like some tea. Are there any biscuits?”

The elf went from enthusiastic to devastated in the blink of an eye. “Oh Master, Zanna is beings sorry,” she sniffled, “but there are beings no biscuits... Zanna could go out to gets Master and his guest some. Zanna will be going right away, sirs.”

“That won't be necessary. Calm yourself Zanna,” Professor Monroe said the last bit in a surprisingly commanding tone, but it seemed to do the trick because the house elf stopped sniffling instantly and stood at attention as if waiting for alternate instructions. Monroe turned to Harry questioning, “Have you eaten?”

Harry shook his head.

“There are sandwich supplies, yes?” Monroe asked, now addressing the house elf again.

Her eyes grew large and hopeful again and her head bobbed up and down, causing her overly-large ears to bob about comically.

“Good, then fix us a tray of sandwiches. Bring the tea first. Camomile.”

“Yes, Master! Zanna will be doing that right away!” the elf exclaimed excitedly and bounded off to the kitchen.

Harry shifted in his seat, suddenly acutely aware of his proximity to Professor Monroe, sitting on the couch, and the feeling of the heat coming off of the man beside him.

“So... you have a house elf?” Harry said, awkwardly.

“Hmm – yes, they're quite handy.”

“Hermione would raise hell if she knew,” Harry said with an amused grin.

Professor Monroe chuckled. “Oh yes, Ms. Granger's crusade to free the elves. For such a clever girl, she can be woefully ill-informed at times. I wonder, has she ever asked the elves if they wish to be saved?”

Harry sighed and shook his head. “She insists that they're brainwashed and don't know what they want.”

Monroe scoffed lightly and shook his head before sighing. “Ah, well... that is a matter to discuss another time. Now, Harry – what was it that had you so shaken?”

Harry pulled in a deep breath, keeping his eyes trained on his lap as he tried to order his thoughts. Finally he looked up and met eyes with Professor Monroe and felt as if some sort of vice in his chest suddenly released. Then the dam broke and Harry began to talk and talk. He spoke about the betrayal he felt at discovering the Headmaster's neglect of his duties; he spoke of the misery he suffered at the hands of his relatives, and the feeling of being utterly alone. Without even thinking, words about Sirius spilled from his mouth, and how relieved and how filled with hope he had been at the prospect of having a guardian who wanted him, and who could finally take care of him, the way a young person was supposed to be taken care of by an adult.

No matter how strong he wanted to be – how strong his life had forced him to become and how strong he pretended to be to his friends – part of him was still a small boy who just desperately wanted someone to want him and approve of him. Someone to take care of him, and protect him. But he'd never had that, and Sirius had been like a beacon of light in the pitch darkness. Only for that hope to be ripped away from him, like so many other dreams.

And now he was learning that all this time, even without Pettigrew to prove his godfather's innocence, they could have used legal precedent and a writ of Habeas Corpus to get him off on wrongful imprisonment without due process – that all this time Dumbledorecould have been helping, but never did. Never even suggested it! And he was the head of the Wizengamot, so you certainly couldn't claim the man didn't know it was an option! Instead he had left Sirius to hide in a hole and insisted that Harry, once again, return to a muggle home filled with misery and bitter disdain. And for what? A so-called blood protection left by his mother that probably didn't even mean anything anymore since Voldemort had used his blood to resurrect himself.

He told his professor about his meeting with Mr. Jennings and his discovery that he held so many voting seats in the House of Lords, and how Dumbledore could have been using Harry's inherited political power all these years to vote on legislation Harry didn't even agree with. In Harry's research of bills passed and magic suppressed by legislation, he'd come to realize that he didn't agree with a lot of Dumbledore's policies, and that realization had unsettled him quite a lot. Knowing now that the bills Dumbledore had supported and gotten passed, could very well have passed due to Harry's votes, was an entirely horrifying prospect.

Zanna had come and gone with the tea and sandwiches ages ago by this point, and Harry was feeling emotionally and physically wrecked, and yet also somehow relieved to have finally voiced his fears and turmoil to another person.

“Fifteen votes,” Professor Monroe said softly after a lengthy silence. “That is quite a substantial number. And quite a heavy responsibility, especially for someone so young.”

Harry closed his eyes against the wave of betrayal that once again filled him. He still didn't know for sure if Dumbledore had been using his votes, but somehow, some part of him, was fairly convinced that the man did.

“Do you think that's why he hasn't helped Sirius?” Harry whispered, voicing one of his worst fears.

“Hmm?” Monroe asked.

“If Sirius was found innocent and became my guardian, Dumbledore wouldn't be my Proxy anymore, right?”

“Ah... yes, Harry. That's right. And if he lost his position as Proxy, he would lose access to your seats, and the votes that come with them.”

Harry's eyes squeezed shut even tighter and he fought against the urge to scream or vomit.

“I suspect that the sheer quantity of votes you hold the rights to is also a large part of why the Minister has been running such a ludicrous smear campaign against you,” Monroe mused and Harry opened his eyes and frowned at him in confusion.

“Huh?”

“Well, there are two possibilities – one, Dumbledore has been using your votes, and the obvious assumption is that he's doing so with your consent, because it's illegal to do so otherwise – or two, he hasn't been using your votes, but there is a generally accepted impression among people that you and he are close and that you trust and respect him. In either case, the assumption is that you will side with him and follow his example. Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge have been at odds for several years now. Cornelius, more often than not, supports the faction within the House of Lords that is in direct opposition of Dumbledore's legislative goals.

“Cornelius is convinced that Dumbledore intends to run for Minister of Magic in the coming years – whether or not that belief is well founded does not negate the fact that this is what Fudge believes. He thinks that Dumbledore is going to do it because the two have been so at odds, politically, and Dumbledore is finally fed up with the man's pandering. Now, Harry – are you aware of how a new Minister of Magic is elected?”

Harry blinked and slowly shook his head. He had assumed that it was just a matter of the people voting them in... “Uhm... there's an election, right?”

“Registered adult witches and wizards are part of the voting process, however, their votes are sectioned off and assigned by district to various members of the House of Commons – for each district that a member from the House of Commons represents, they have to vote for whoever the majority of their district voted for. It is the votes from the House of Commons and the House of Lords that actually elect the Minister, and while the House of Commons representatives have to vote in the direction of their district, the members from the House of Lords can put their votes towards whomever they want. The process appears to be a public representative system, but the votes that make the greatest impact in electing the Minister of Magic are actually the votes of the Lords. You, individually, hold a significant number of votes, and Cornelius no doubt assumes that you would vote for Dumbledore, over him. Therefore, he wishes to discredit both you and Dumbledore, as early as possible, to lessen public support.”

Harry gaped for several seconds before he felt himself snap and he let loose a frustrated angry roar.

“I bloody hate this!” he screamed, hunching over and burying his fists in his hair, pulling on it in angry frustration.

“Oh, Harry,” Monroe said in a saddened voice and he reached over and rest his hand on Harry's back. Harry instantly felt some of his anger and tension leave him and he let his body fall sideways, leaning into Monroe's side and sighing as the man's arm wrapped around his back reassuringly. His hand brushed up and down gently along Harry's shoulder and side, and Harry shivered at the tingling heady magic that seemed to be vibrating through him at the contact.

It was always so intense when they touched, and part of Harry's mind knew he should wonder about that, but for some reason he never did. It was just there and it felt so right and wonderful that he couldn't possibly question it. In fact, he often longed for those rare sparse instances where Professor Monroe would touch him, and it seemed it had been happening more often lately.

Harry leaned in further, turning his face and burying it Monroe's side, pulling in deep lung fulls of the man's masculine scent.

A small gasp escaped Harry's lips followed by a quiet keening hum as Monroe's hand moved upward and slipped into Harry's hair, carding his fingers through it and massaging Harry's scalp near his forehead. The more direct contact seemed to intensify the pleasant sensations and Harry felt as if his scar were buzzing with the most intense magic he'd ever experienced. All thoughts about Dumbledore and betrayal and political maneuverings had left his mind, and all that was left was the sensation of Monroe's fingers carding through his hair and the gently increasing hum in his forehead.

It was like little electric pulses were being sent from Harry's head, directly down his spine and straight to his cock. It twitched in his pants, and he was vaguely aware of just how hard he'd gotten. He shifted his hips unconsciously, humming needfully at the small friction brought on by the movement, and the continuing bombardment of tingling pleasure shooting from the roots of his hair through his whole body.

“Professor,” Harry whispered hoarsely as he pushed his face further into the man's side and his hands twitched with the need to touch the man.

“Harry...” Monroe whispered back and Harry nearly moaned at the breathy, needy quality of the man's tone. Some detached part of Harry's mind, wondered for the first time, if his professor might feel the strange magic between them as well, and his chest soared with hope.

Harry opened his heavy-lidded eyes and raised his head, meeting the intense, burning gaze of his professor. He gasped at the sight of the tightly-controlled lust he saw burning in them. He found himself pushing forward, reaching up with his lips, desperately yearning to feel the other man's lips pressed against his own.

Professor Monroe's eyes clouded with doubt and he looked conflicted as the two drew closer, and yet he didn't stop moving. Harry's whole body felt like it was buzzing now, and his heart was racing in his chest. He could feel his blood pounding against his skull, muffled only by the roar of the magic in his ears, calling him closer to the man beside him. It was as if he were a magnet and he'd been trying to fight the pull towards the other man, but could no longer find the will to resist.

Monroe stopped moving, held motionless a mere inch from Harry, and the moment seemed to hang for an eternity before the last vestiges of Harry's control snapped and he lunged forward pressing his lips against his professors.

It was like fireworks had exploded in his chest, his forehead, and his groin, all at once. The sensation was so overwhelming that Harry feared he might pass out. A loud moan escaped Harry's mouth, pressed against his professor's, and he was thrilled beyond words to hear an echoing moan coming from the other man as well.

A strong hand came out and wrapped around Harry's back, pulling him closer while the other fisted Harry's hair tightly causing Harry's lips to part in a surprised gasp. Monroe took advantage of the opening and suddenly began to plunder Harry's mouth with a fervor that Harry had only ever dreamed about in his wildest fantasies. Harry's mind was overwhelmed by lust and euphoria and all he knew was his professor's lips and the delicious licks of magic that seemed to be dancing over his skin and sending shockwaves through his entire system.

He was moaning almost nonstop, completely thrown by how intense everything felt. He had thought touching the man had felt good, but it was nothing compared to kissing him. And the man was clearly a very talented kisser. His lips were demanding, but there was nothing sloppy about it, and the way his tongue probed Harry's mouth was stunningly arousing.

Harry realized in some sort of detached fashion that his hands seemed to be groping about rather erratically. He just needed to touch, and they were fisting into Professor Monroe's robes with an aimless desperation. He forced his hands open, releasing the fabric before he ripped it, and instead started moving them about, desperatly searching for some opening, so he could touch the man's skin. He just knew if he could touch the man, it would feel even better; but even without that, he somehow felt the intense need for the contact. He needed to be closer. To touch, to feel and explore.

A whimper of relief escaped him as his hands got through the front opening of the robes and found the bottom of his shirt, tucked into his trousers. A few tugs and the fabric was up and Harry's hands were going in.

“Aaah!” Harry nearly screamed, as his palms flattened themselves against Professor Monroe's abdomen.

“Oh Merlin!” Monroe gasped, before diving back in and once again attacking Harry's mouth.

Harry keened into the man's lips, and moved his hands around the smooth muscled planes with a hunger he hadn't known he had before. His exploration was interrupted when he felt his body being shifted and pushed back. Harry whined desperately until he found himself laying back against the side of the couch and suddenly completely covered by his teacher's body.

A gasp, followed by a moan, escaped Harry's lips as the man settled himself between Harry's legs, reached down and pulled one up over his hip and began rutting against him, delivering electric spasms to shoot through Harry with each brush of their still clothed cocks. Harry instantly caught on and was arching up and thrusting back against the man with all the fervur of a horny teenager. One of Harry's hands managed to slip back under the shirt and slid around to grasp at Monroe's back while the other explored his chest.

A lusty growl escaped Monroe's mouth, still pressed against Harry's, when the teen brushed his fingers over one of the man's nipples.

Monroe pulled back but his mouth quickly began attacking Harry's jaw and neck, nipping at Harry's flesh and shocking him with the intensity of the pleasure-pain of it. He felt completely at the man's mercy and he'd never felt so alive. His blood was racing, his skin was dancing, his head felt like it was going to explode from an overload of sensation and pure unadulterated pleasure.

He was screaming out obscenities and practically clawing at the other man's back now, desperately chasing that promised pleasure he felt building up, deep inside his groin.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god – fuck! – so close, so good,” Harry cried out.

“Yes, yes, yes, that's it – yes, oh Harry –!”

“Oh... OH, PROFESSOR!”

“YES! Harry!”

Harry's whole body arched, jerking violently with spasms of pure pleasure, a dozen times more intense than any orgasm he'd ever experienced by wanking. He felt as if he were experiencing the orgasm over and over again over the span of several minutes – echoed back and forth again and again in his head, leaving him a jerking, twitching, moaning mess beneath his equally unruffled teacher.

With one final satisfied moan, Professor Monroe seemed to heave and melt against Harry, settling between Harry and the back of the couch and wrapping his arms around Harry's body possessively while lazily nibbling at Harry's shoulder.
- 6
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Professor Monroe